Richard's Class Reunion: Epilogue
by T.W.Kidd
Summary: Richard has arrested a fellow officer for the murder of their friend. The case is closed. But it's not over quite yet. (Epilogue to episodes 27-28)
1. Chapter 1

Conan woke suddenly. It was dawn. The apartment was still and silent. Light was beginning to filter in through his window but that wasn't what woke him. He hadn't been having a nightmare but all his nerves were on edge as if he was.

He kicked the covers off and stood. He didn't hear or smell anything out of the ordinary so he left his room and peeked into Rachel's room. She was sleeping soundly on her futon, undisturbed. He walked down the hallway to Richard's door but found it open. Inside, his bedding was all neatly made.

 _Probably spent all night drinking._ Conan thought to himself, rolling his eyes. He headed towards to living room expecting to find Richard passed out in a pile of beer cans, like he had so many times before. What he found instead made his stop dead in his tracks.

Richard was there but wide awake. He stood facing the long line of windows that over looked the street, his back to Conan. He wore a well-pressed black suit. His shoes were freshly shined and waiting for him by the door. A cigarette burned uselessly in his right hand. The morning light washed over him. Conan took a tentative step forward. In the decade he'd known Richard, he'd never seen him like this. Everything about him was neat and in order.

"Detective Moore?" He said experimentally but Richard made no sign he heard. On the table, Conan saw the morning paper spread in front of a half full cup of black coffee. Conan touched the mug. It was ice cold. He turned his attention to the papers.

"Sleep Sleuth Catches Crooked Cop!" The headlines exclaimed, showing two large photographs, one of Craig and one of Richard. Conan scanned the article but found only the usual salacious nonsense. "Tragic murder at lush resort…long standing romantic grudge…solved quickly by the famous Richard Moore… Moore has been unavailable for comment."

 _That's strange._ Conan thought, _it's not like Richard to skip chatting with the press._

Underneath the papers, Conan found several old Polaroid photographs. They were blurry and hard to decipher so it took him a moment to realize they were snapshots of Richard's college Judo team. Richard was barely a half-grown man in these pictures. Some were professional photos, stoic posed team photos. Others were candid pictures of the group together or of each fighter in the ring. Among them were snapshots of Rachel as a little girl.

"Hm?" Richard finally noticed that he wasn't alone. He half-turned to look at Conan. His face was washed and shaved, his hair neatly combed but the rings under his eyes confessed his sleepless night. Conan realized his bedding was neat because he'd never used it. He'd been up all night.

"Good morning, Richard!" Conan said in a well-practiced childish voice "Neat pictures." Richard's gaze dropped to the photos that Conan held and he only sighed then took a long drag from his cigarette in answer before turning back to the windows. Conan suddenly realized what had woken him in such a peculiar mood.

Today was Jamie's memorial service.

Rachel made breakfast for herself and Conan and they ate in near silence. Richard only nursed a fresh cup of coffee, waving away any offer of food. She tried to draw him into conversation but was only answered with nods or grunts. So, when the phone began to ring, she was surprised to see him stand and answer it.

"I'm sorry," He said "The Moore Detective Agency is Clo—"

"Richard." Eva's voice came across the line like a shot of whiskey. Warm and painful and comfortable. The sound of it drew the breath out of him.

"Eva." He answered.

"I just heard about Jamie." She said "I'm out of town right now and there's no way for me to make it back in time. I-I just thought I should call."

There was a beat of silence and they both grasped for words they didn't know how to say. Both of them seeking to comfort and be comforted.

"Yeah." Richard answered tightly.

"—I'm sorry I can't be there." Eva said quietly. Richard let out a low sigh.

"Yeah." He said again, more kindly. More silence.

"Give Rachel and Conan my love." She said finally, now knowing what else to say. "I've got to get off the phone now."

"Okay." Richard said, hearing the lie. He could feel the pain in her voice, the tears in her eyes that he knew she would refuse to let fall until she was safely alone in a hotel somewhere. He dropped the phone in its cradle, letting his hand rest on it. He imagined he could feel Eva's hand clutching onto his again, as it had so many years ago.

"Was that mom?" Rachel asked as Richard sat back down at the table. He only nodded. Then, after a moment, added "She sends her love."


	2. Chapter 2

An hour later, the three of them were stepping out of a cab in front of a modest home in the suburbs. Rachel wore a polite black dress and Conan wore a suit bought especially for the occasion with matching leather shoes. Richard hadn't even complained about the cost. This was the first time that he'd ever been to a memorial that wasn't for a case or a long-gone relative.

Richard hadn't spoken a single word since hanging up the phone. Honestly, he wasn't sure what would come out if he would have tried to say anything. He didn't know if it would be shouting or sobbing or nothing at all. He had a knot in his chest that made speech seem like a herculean task. It was all he could do force himself to breath in and out.

Once he paid the cab driver, he turned and entered the home, bowing low to Jamie's parents. Rachel and Conan followed suit. Rachel complimented them on their home and the three of them made gentle conversation. People stood in groups, chatting softly as if by whispering they could hide their purpose for being here. Richard scoffed and stuck a cigarette in his mouth. Unlike Conan, who in 17 years hadn't yet experienced loss, Richard had already seen the funerals of both his parents, several friends from the police department and now Jamie. He was getting more use of this stupid black suit than he ever wanted. He was annoyed at how routine this all felt.

"Oh, please don't smoke in the house." Jaime's mother said suddenly, catching him as he struck the lighter. Richard, without retort shoved the cigarette contritely back into his pocket. He fiddled with the lighter for a few minutes out of habit before it too was hidden away. They took their seats in the back of the room, far from everyone else.

Rachel held her Conan's hand during the service, crying quietly into a tissue. She thought her father behaved like a monk who'd taken a vow of silence. Even when he approached the alter, bowed his head and folded his hands reverently, he was stone faced and silent. She'd never seen her father like this. She knew that his heart must be breaking. That he was hiding it, trying to remain strong, made her cry for him, too. She knew it was all an act.

After the service ended he stepped outside to have a cigarette. That's where Jim, Nancy, and Scott found him. None of them smoked so he assumed they must have been looking for him. This was all that was left of the Judo team, now. Jamie dead, Craig in prison and the four of them standing around in matching black clothes on a hot summer day. _Black, black, black,_ he snarled internally, _what a horrible color. Too hot to be wearing this late in the summer, anyway._

"Hey Richard," Nancy said, wrapping him in a tight hug "Thanks for making it. We were worried you'd be too busy. Rachel, Conan, you too."

"It was a beautiful service." Rachel said.

"I read what they said in the papers," Jim said "Awful what they did to you, plastering your name all over and making it out to be some sort of soap opera."

"Vultures." Nancy said fiercely "Circling the dead with absolutely no respect."

"Uh-Oh. Speak of vultures…" Conan spotted a convoy of panel vans, all sporting logos from local news stations. He grit his teeth. Cab driver probably tipped them Richard's location.

"I'll see I can head them off." Jim said moving towards the vans but Richard laid a hand on his shoulder to stop them. He dropped his cigarette on the ground, grinding it into the sidewalk with the heel of his polished shoe. His brow furrowed and he watched the vans. People from the service had started to emerge from the home, murmuring amongst themselves. By the time the first van pulled up in front of Richard, there was quite a crowd.

Lights flashed from cameras as news reported shouted questions at Richard, jostling and pushing microphones at him. The noise was cacophonous. Rachel grabbed Conan's hand so that he wouldn't be trampled by the unruly crowd.

"Dectective Moore! Detective Moore!" Over a dozen voices shouted for his attention "What happened….What are the details of the case….How does it feel putting a fellow officer away…Were you ever romantically involved with the victim…What are you response to the rumors that…"

Suddenly, Richard straightened and rose to his full height. His hard gray eyes peered unfeelingly into the crowd and they immediately hushed. His broad shoulders squared, his hands clenched in fists at his side, one could easily see the formidable athlete he'd once been. Richard was still an incredibly imposing figure. Conan braced himself for Richard's wrath.

"This is a house in mourning," He spoke low, his baritone voice rumbling over the reporters like rolling thunder. What it resonated with was more that anger, deeper than fury and much, much more threatening. A shiver passed over both the reporters and the mourners. "You are disrespecting that. I suggest you leave."

"Detective Moore, don't you want to make a statement?" One reported demanded angrily. Richard looked down at him, towering nearly a full head over him. The reporter took a step backwards. Richard's jaw tightened.

"A woman is dead." Richard told him, "What more do you want to hear? Now, get the hell out of here."

With only the smallest moment of contentious grumbling, the reporters quickly retreated to their vans and drove away. Their fear was palpable. Richard watched them, radiating power that made Conan physically cower. He knew what that sound in his voice was. He knew where that power came from. It was heartbreak.

When the last of the vans had disappeared, Richard sighed heavily, his shoulders falling and he popped another cigarette into his mouth.

"Good riddance." He grumbled. With that he lit his cigarette and walked away from the crowd, leaving them in awe. "Let's go home."


	3. Chapter 3

Richard sunk into the couch, his tie now slack and shirt untucked. He held an unopened beer can in one hand. Richard set the can on his leg, lacking the strength or energy to pull the tab. He simply watched the sweat drip down the sides and the cool liquid make contact with his pant leg, seeping into his skin. His mind thought of everything and of nothing. The sun was no longer shining through the windows of the office, and shadows grew long and sinister over the carpet. The polaroid pictures gleamed in the half-light, obscuring their images.

He was blind to the world, lost in his memories, until a glimmer of light caught the corner of his eye. He lifted his head and looked. Conan was peering over the arm of the couch. The top of his glasses were reflecting the lamp light. Richard wondered how long he'd been standing there without him noticing.

"Hey, Conan." He said tiredly. His sleepless night was catching up to him and he felt exhausted. He suddenly remembered when Rachel had been small. Impulsively, he set his beer on the table and reached over and, grasping the boy under the armpits, set him on his lap. Conan was reminded of how his own father used to set him on his lap just the same way and read to him. Richard was a father too, he supposed.

Conan watched Richard. He'd never seen him like this. He'd known him for most of his life. Yet, it felt like he was just meeting the man. All he'd ever thought of him was as a barely competent private detective. He was just another rival to outdo. It had never occurred to him that Richard might have anything more to him.

"When Rachel was about your age," He said to Conan, smiling absently, "She used to sit on my lap just like this after I got home from work. We'd watch television together while Eva cooked dinner."

Why Richard was telling him this? He rarely ever spoke of the past, except to exalt himself. He never mentioned Rachel's childhood and definitely never his marriage. Suddenly Richard wrapped his arms around Conan. Conan felt the old man's stubble against his forehead. He smelled the strong tobacco on his breath. He'd never hugged Conan before. He wasn't sure what to do.

"One day, you're just a kid and the next morning you're forty and nothing makes sense anymore." He said quietly. "What the hell happened?"

Conan suddenly felt very naïve and small. Even though he was seventeen, it dawned on him that there really was so much more to life than he had lived. Those smiling photos, all those years gone passed… Conan hadn't even lived half of what Richard had. Richard held him for a moment and then let go. He gently, playfully, bopped him on the head and smiled.

Conan slid off of his lap, at an utter loss for words. Richard pulled the tab on his beer can and took a long drink. The shadows stretched over the room as the sun finally sunk into the horizon. There was only silence left between them,


End file.
